DISNEY NOIR: The Pickled Peter Pan
by The Notorious Peter Pan
Summary: Daisy Do Me the Cow has been murdered, and dear old bad boy Peter Pan has been blamed. Detective Rachael Mallory is dealing with murders, horny partners, and ink thinner? Noir disney w/ plenty of plot twists. Please R R
1. Welcome To The Jungle

DISNEY'S NOIR TOONIVERSE

Case File: The Pickeled Peter Pan Case

I own none of these characters, except for my variations on how I think they would be in their own world.

This is a sexy, dark, dark, dark, - did I mention DARK - Disney Universe fan fiction involving any and all characters that pertian to the story line. It's meant to be noir and is a murder mystery.

This is mature content, so if you don't like to see your favorite Disney cartoon characters, and any other cartoon characters from other networks portrayed in a dirty, dark, adult themed setting, find another fan fiction to read.

Thanks and have a nice day.

* * *

DISNEY'S NOIR TOONIVERSE

Case File: The Pickeled Peter Pan Case

I walked stealthily down the streets of this crappy little town, stalking my culprit. I was on another murder case, this time involving a very suspicious toon, who whose alibi didn't quite fit. They turned the corner ahead of me. As I caught up and turned to I was grabbed in surprise –

But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. You don't even know the beginning to the end of this crazy caper. My name is Rachael. I'm a private eye who hunts down rogue toons in the Tooniverse, the world where every cartoon ever created lives and dies. I've been trapped here for about a year, and I make a pretty good living, for a human. Most toons here are retired, and they only get commissioned back into work if someone plays the work that they've acted in. A huge, whole crazy idea that the producers in the human world came up with. Still confused? That's alright. So am I half the time of my life.  
When I was sixteen, I found a real book of magic. I was curious and began to read spells out of the book which I had stolen from an old bookshop in town. I had also been watching Disney's Hercules and low and behold, I opened a portal into their world and have been stranded ever since. I've taken down criminal cartoon crime lords, toon sex rings, and a few ink drug busts that went pretty bust if you catch my drift.  
Here in the Tooniverse, it's not all cotton candy and rainbows and heroes. The wonderful Disney cartoon characters you see aren't the same people. They are beyond anything you've ever met, and most of them are pretty corrupt. They're toons, not humans. The couples you see in those Disney movies, well, most of the time they aren't really together and in point of fact, don't get along that well. There are plenty of crime lords and porn stars in the toon world. You wouldn't believe how many of your childhood idols are really quite criminal. But there are also plenty of toons who aren't bad toons; they do a lot of good, and plenty of them are upstanding citizens. Like Gaston out of Beauty and the Beast. He's a pretty okay guy. In fact, he's not as much of an asshole as you would think. He's a real gentleman. And someday, I'll tell you how I got mixed up in the private eye business in toon town. More on that later.  
I primarily stick to the Disney world of cartoons. I don't stray into Warner Brothers, or the anime and manga departments. Those places are a little more risqué in some places, tamer in others. Nickelodeon is not my foray either, but on occasion I have been known to make a few trips down to the big Nicktooniverse for a little sleuthing.

My story starts back say two weeks ago. I was sitting in my office, a crummy little room on the fifth floor of an out-of-date office building in the black and white part of Dizzy Town – Dizzy as in Disney Town – a real crum bucket of a place. The office was scarce more than a small apartment with bed, bath, kitchen, a very small living room. The whole place had been renovated to a small degree. There was a bed for anyone who felt like lying down, usually me when I had stayed up too late and it was too hard to make it back to my apartment in the Upper East of Dizzy Town. The office was sparsely furnished, plain and simple with blond hardwood floors and a plain desk with swivel lamp. Opposite my desk were two chairs for clients. Then there was my chair, big, plush, cushy, and very relaxing. I had an outdated computer from the Toon Tech Company – TTC, the biggest holder of stock in Dizzy Town since the old Mickster himself, who is Mickey Mouse by the way – and an even more outdated cartoon telephone like you see in the black and white toons of the twenties and thirties. His name was Billy and he was reliable as hell.  
Here in the tooniverse, you can look like whatever you want to be, as long as it's within bounds of the world you came out of. I took on the look of the animation used for Beauty and the Beast. I bare no resemblance to Belle. I'm around five fourish, thin and somewhat curvy, a dark dark haired brunette, with ovular and angular features. I'm told I'm quite pretty; I am, but I'm not vain, and I usually do my best to play down my features to keep from distracting clients. I'm seventeen and one of the best toon detectives around, right next to good old Gaston, all around good guy and partner in the PI business.

I sat at my desk, riffling through papers, thumbing through credit card bills and wondering how the hell I was going to pay the electric when Gaston busted through my doors, holding a thick manila folder in his hands. I glanced up at him, my patience thin.  
"Rachie," he said.  
"Don't call me that," I said icily. I hated to be called Rachie or Rach or any other derivative form of my name, other than Rachael or Rae. Plain and simple. That's my cover.  
He shoved my reproach to the side and continued with what he had been saying.  
"This is a case you should take a look at"  
"I'm not interested Gassy." Now he threw me an icy look. If there was one thing he hated, it was being called Gassy. I stifled a smile.  
"It's important. A murder case." That caught my attention. Murder? In the Tooniverse? In Dizzy Town? That was impossible. Disney toons don't get killed. Maybe in the Animeverse, but not here. Not my town.  
"Who?" I asked, standing up abruptly, my chair scooting back viciously as I leaned in close to Gaston, my hands griping the edge of the desk hard.  
He sauntered over and sat on the edge, the folders held in his hand. He wore a black suit, the tie missing, the collar undone. His hair was cut short, waves framing his face handsomely. He was still as bulky and huge and handsome as ever, but he was many years my senior. He kept the file out of hands reach.  
"Peter Pan." He let the words sink in deep. They stung without me even realizing how much it hurt to hear his name.  
Peter Pan is in a permanent aging of twenty years of age. He's a hottie, with boyish, impish good looks, fiery red hair, and a roaring motor bike painted lime green. He's Dizzy Town's biggest and wildest bad boy. He's wiry and powerful and completely magical and mischievous, donning a black leather jacket and jeans that make him look uber sexy. Did I mention he also has the hots for me? He saved my life, back when I was still green and I had first arrived in the Tooniverse. But that is not my point. I owe Pan a big favor. But he's dead. I think.  
"Peter is"  
"Peter is not dead. He's being accused of killing Daisy 'Do Me' the Cow. You know her as the main female cow in all of Disney's farm animations of the twenties. Real popular back then"  
"What would he be doing with a cow?" I was perplexed. Why would Peter Pan, baddest magical imp of the Disneyverse hang out with an easy cartoon cow? I had answered my own question. Because she was easy. "You tell me." Gaston looked at me like I was asking stupid questions, which I kind of was, and handed me the file. He wouldn't let go of it for a moment, staring at me intently.  
"You shouldn't take this case," he said at my subsequent silence.  
"You're the one who offered it to me." I leaned in, close enough that I could smell his aftershave mixed with the pleasant scent of his very well-built body. "I know," he answered, coming in closer. He leaned in to plant a kiss on me, but I pulled back at the last second and tapped his head lightly with the file. It was a game he and I played, cat and mouse, all the time. He groaned. Gaston thought he'd get the kiss this time.  
"Sorry Tiger, not my style." I walked around the desk and headed for the door when he grabbed my wrist and turned me around to face him.  
"You do this to me every time. You lure me in and throw me out. I'm a nice guy, not that schmucked up asshole they portrayed me to be in the movie." He pulled me close, towering above me at 6'2". I glared at him.  
"Because you're a pen and ink drawing and I'm human"  
"This isn't Cool World Rae. The world won't fall apart if"  
"If I let you fuck me till I howl like Pluto?" His eyes darkened at my usage of words. "I didn't quite mean it that-" I interrupted him again.  
"You meant it Gaston. Your eyes glitter quite lustfully every time we play this little game. And we've had this conversation before. I don't get mixed up with guys like you"  
"You mean guy toons who are nice and aren't trashy bad boys who ride green motor bikes and stir up trouble." I looked away. He had pulled me to him, his body dangerously close to mine. It wasn't that I didn't want to get involved with him, that I didn't find him attractive, and it wasn't the fact that he was a toon. The truth was, I was still a virgin, though I didn't always act it, and there was the possibility that I could find a way home. If I did find a way home, did I really want to have an attachment here in the Tooniverse?  
"It's not like that"  
"Yeah it is. You don't want to be involved because you don't find me as exciting as that badass wannabe Peter Pan. He's nothing but a criminal who'll get you in trouble with the Toon Police and screw you over. He's a lousy, washed up, forgotten"  
"Shutup!" I screamed. "You're just pissed off because I don't share the same desire to fuck around with you as you have for me. You're also pissed off that he swept me off my feet in that hot little bike of his before you could put your two cents in. He found me first and that just pisses you off." I pushed myself away from Gaston and walked out the door, leaving him with an angry, if not hurt expression on his face.

* * *

So that's the first chapter. Hope you liked it. Comment if you wish. If you didn't like it, well, I guess it's not your style then is it?

Adios.

The White Rabbit


	2. The Usual Suspects

Disney's NOIR Tooniverse

I own none of these characters. If you don't like their portrayal, please read something else.  
Enjoy the noir of Disney Tooniverse.

If you have any special requests for certain characters you'd like to see, or maybe just hear about in passing, drop me a note and I'll try to fit them logically into the storyline.

* * *

Chapter II

The Usual Suspects

I stormed out the door, furious that I let things escalate to the degree at which they had. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, my back to the wall, the door bearing my name and his to the left of me. Dizzy Investigations Private Investigators Gaston Lereaux Rachael Mallory I wanted to scratch his name off with a chisel; dear God where am I going with this. My hand lay flatly against my chest as I breathed heavily. I prepared myself to walk to the elevator and go down to the precinct where they were no doubt holding the Pan. Suddenly I remember that me coat and camera were still inside with an irate Gaston who would not be pleased to see me so soon.  
I collected myself and opened the door. He was still sitting there, staring at the door, then at me, his eyes narrowed, and his face sour.

"Forgot my stuff," I explained hurriedly as I grabbed the coat and camera bag, not glancing back as I once again slammed the door.

As I pressed the elevator button I heard a cry of anger and resentment resonate loudly from the office. Best to get out of here quickly. The doors opened and the bell dinged. I stepped in, watching Gaston pull open the door and head strait for me as the elevator doors closed. His fists hit the doors viciously as I heard him yell at me, begging me to forgive him for his words. It wasn't him that had so those things. It was me. I knew he was going to try and catch me by running down three flights of stairs as fast as possible, so I go off at the second floor landing, listening to him crash through the door to get to the first floor landing. Man was he fast.

I went and knocked on Philitetes' door, or Phil for short. Remember him? Goat man/ trainer from Hercules? He's now an agent for up and coming cartoon stars in all the universes. He's also a good friend of mine; helped me out of a tough spot once. He opened the door in response to my knock.  
"What the…Hey! Rae! What's going on my friend?" Phil led me in. I gave him a brief overview of the fight upstairs and what I was trying to do.  
"Here: use the fire escape. Works like a charm." Phil led me through the tasteful office to the window. He unlatched it – it latched at the bottom for easy reach – and I hitched up my skirts and climbed down the fire escape. I was on the side of the building, looking out towards the street. Cartoon buildings rose high out of the ground, colored every color and created every in every shape possible. I climbed down as quietly as possible, camera gripped tightly in my hand. The ladder was slippery, slick from the morning's rain. Sunlight streamed brightly over the entire street, lighting up the colored half of the street into fluorescent rainbows. My side was black and white, thank god, but I would stick out louder than a red bulb on a Christmas tree. The ladder clattered squeakily to the bottom as I stepped off, nearly losing my balance. I snuck along the side quietly, reaching the edge and peeking around briefly to see if he was out there. He was standing in front, waiting for me to come out, hoping to catch me and apologize, finalizing and making clear his feelings once more. I already knew he was in love with me. Gaston pursued me relentlessly, doing everything he could to appeal. He already appealed to me; he was smart, handsome, a great PI, and sexy as hell. But he was my partner and he was a toon. What kind of relationship could he have with me if I was real and he was an ink drawing? It wasn't like the way he assumed it was. To my knowledge, he thought that I thought that he was the same as that jerk he played in the movie. But I knew that.

His arms were folded as he surveyed the street with wary eyes. There was a huge crowd of toons walking by just as he was looking away. I stepped into the throng and hailed a taxi cab, waiting for the cartoon cab to notice and take me away. It stopped with a screech and said in a jolly but overtly booming voice, "HEYA Dectective!" I made shushing motions as I stepped close to the cab and pulled open the door. The crowd had passed and Gaston had just noticed me standing there with the cab door wide open.  
I scrambled to get inside but he was faster, catching me by the arm, pulling me away from the cab.

"Listen," he breathed heavily into my ear, "We started out on the wrong foot this morning. I came off as…" But I pushed him away and slammed the cab door, getting in before he could stop me.

"Take me to the precinct Arnie, and make it snappy." I glared at Gaston through the glass as Arnie the cab drove off in a southern direction.

* * *

Gaston stared after the cab wistfully, desirous of following and sweeping her off her feet. If he wasn't so damned attracted to that human he might have had better sense. But Gaston knew where Rachael was heading, and he wasn't about to let her get away that easily.

* * *

Toons on their way to work passed by in slow motion as Arnie drove crazily down the toon streets. Lights turning red just as we passed yelled out cusswords and other cars did the same thing. Some were regular cars, while others were animated and alive, like Arnie. He drove down Teapot Avenue, took a left at Goofy's Fine Dining, and headed down several more questionable streets of disreputable stature. The buildings here were a little nicer than my district, not black and white, but colorful and tall, well kept and clean.

Arnie pulled slowly to a stop in front of the Dizzy Town Police Precinct Office. I paid my fair with a little car oil and stepped out onto the curb. The building was bright blue and animated like you've seen it in House of Mouse. Lots of fancy gold gilded edging that lines the frames of the doorways and windows of the building, causing it to look more impressive than it really is. I waved goodbye and headed for the cement steps, covered in bird poop from those perching, annoying, singing birdies. A few flew around and greeted me, but I swatted at them. The town council was trying to decide whether or not to ban the little bastards from singing in public. Their happy hymns were getting on lots of peoples nerves. The doors opened automatically, a cool breeze of air conditioning meeting my hot face.

Pictures of the original Dizzy Town lined the walls of the precinct. Most of them were black and white, faces of familiar toons smiling out of each frame. Back then they tell me, life was simple, crime was nonexistent, and sex was but a myth to these guys. How did the toons get so corrupted? For starters, the tastes of humans in cartoons changed. And one very special human being got trapped in the world of animation once.

His name is a myth, whispered in shadows. That's another case I'm working on: trying to find out the name of the first human to set foot in the tooniverse. Whoever he was, he sure stirred things up around here. I flashed my badge at Petey, the cartoon bully dog you see all over the place. He's not too fond of me; the feeling is mutual. I led myself down the hallways to the interrogation rooms and opened the first door on the right with a label marked Pan, Peter, debriefing. The door opened as out came detective Mickey Mouse. He was a detective; it was his retirement job. Poor Mickey; he'd been here the longest and he remembered Dizzy Town the way it had been before all hell broke lose.

"So what's this all about?" I asked, glancing through the two-way-mirrored glass at Peter. His hair was mussed and spiked, his back hunched over as he stared at the glass with a bored albeit cunning glance. He knew I was coming. He just didn't know when.

"Well," Mickey began, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, "What we know is that at around 2:20 last night, Daisy "Do Me" the Cow was found dead in an alleyway, not to far from Pete's apartment. She was facedown in a puddle of her own ink, covered in bruises and eraser marks. _Real_ _eraser_ marks Rae. Not the kind you find here, but in the _real_ world. Where _you_ come from." He stressed the words heavily, his implications obvious within my mind.

"Wait, are you accusing me of killing Daisy Cow?" My voice reached a shrillness I never knew I possessed. Peter's ears on the other side of the glass pricked up at the sound of my voice, an impish grin covering his features.

"I don't believe it for a second," Mickey said, quickly covering his tracks. "All I Know is that the other detectives are starting to worry and they want to pin blame as fast as possible on old Peter in there. If they can drag you in to, you can sure as bet that they will try." He handed over the case documents and pictures. The pics weren't pretty.

Daisy had been a thin, narrow faced cow, caught up in the anorexia fad that was sweeping the tooniverse. Her body was a mess, eraser marks covering most of her body in horrid gashes and cuts. She had bled out all the ink that held her together. She was as dead as doornail. I looked away. I'd been in the toon world too long; I was just as animated as the rest of them.

"I'm gonna go question Peter. See what I can find out." I turned from Mickey, files in hand, and headed for the door.

* * *

The cab is in reverence and dedication to the cab in _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_. He's not the same, but it is a dedication to that wonderful toon. Peter is playing a big part in the next chapter, so stay tunned.

That's chapter 2. Kinda short, but hey...I have homework. Hope you like it! Ciao!


	3. Sex, Lies, and Interrogation

Enjoy the next chapter. longish. please review!!!! i have no claim to these chracters.

**Disney's Noir Tooniverse**

**SEX, LIES, AND INTERROGATION**

* * *

Peter glanced up hopefully at me as I passed through the doorway into the interrogation room. It was gray and intimidating; there was something about the sterileness of the room that disturbed me. I suppose it was meant to be calming to the subject at hand, but for me it was intimidating as hell.

I strode over confidently, refusing to look at Peter. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the gray table, eyes alight with amusement.

"So are ya gonna get me cleared?"

"I'm a detective Peter; not a lawyer."

"But I need to get back to my old lifestyle. This place is a real snore fest..."

"Cut the crap Peter," I said furiously as I sat down. "Your lifestyle got you into this mess in the firstplace." I ruffled some papers and took a look at Pan's criminal record. There were some pretty hefty accusations and crimes on that one little sheet of paper.

"This is bullshit Pete. Look at this record! Arrested for assualt on a fire hydrant; Arrested for possesion of ink thinner; charges of shoplifting fairy dust off Tinkerbell; charges of multiple reckless accidents with that motor bike Peter; caught in the act with a toon prostitute. Peter, no wonder they suspect you of murder!" I was flabbergasted as I finally gave him a hard stare, eyes meeting for the first time in minutes.

He wouldn't look at me. "How was I supposed to know that peeing on a fire hydrant was illegal, let alone that the damn thing was sentient! And that ink thinner, I was holding that for a friend." I raised my eyebrow skeptically.

"And the fairy dust? The bike accidents? The prostitutes? What of them? Are you insane?" I slammed my fists hard onto the table, my eyes throwing accusatory glances at him. He turned a bright shade of red.

"So I have a little problem."

"A little problem? Peter, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You knew that someday you were going to go a little too far, and you did." He was deathly silent.

"I didn't kill Daisy," he said in a deathly whisper. "I swear to Walt that I didn't kill that horing cow."

"Oh really? Explain why your inkprints are all over her body. Maybe you should explain why there's real world eraser dust all over your fingers, your jacket...your bike."

Peter looked away, his touseled hair casting his eyes into shadow. He looked almost demonic as he looked up at me from his downturned expression.

"I can tell you why."

"Okay. Tell me why."

"Daisy was...a masochist. She'd like it when I hurt her. And man, would she moan when I put my fingers--"

"I don't want to know where you put your fingers. Just finish. In fact, tell me where you were last night, begining from six P.M. all the way up to when the cops arrested you."  
Peter gulped audibly.

"I stopped for a pack of smokes at SHer Kahn's grocery on Eisner Street, then I headed for RID. I picked up Daisy, we did our little thing. I paid her in the smokes and a couple...unmentionables. I headed home for a little rest." He finished and leaned back, acting as if he'd said all that had needed to be said. I wanted to believe him, but something was nagging. RID was the Red Ink District, the place where all the drugs and sex rings hung out. The prostitutes frequented there regularly. It was their territory.

"What were these unmentionables that you paid her in?"

"Pencils. The mechanical kind."

"Real mechanical pencils?"

"Real mechanical pencils." He drew in a deep breath and pulled out a smoke and a lighter bearing the monogram of WD.

"Where did you get these pencils?" I leaned in, watching as he lit the cigarette and drew a long, shaky breath.

He shrugged. "I've got my contacts."

"What did Daisy need mechanical pencils for?"

"How the hell should I know? She said that was her currency, and that's what I paid her." He dragged and blew out a ring of smoke. I waved it away and coughed. Peter offered me the cig, but I refused. It was a nasty habbit in my world, and a nasty habbit in this one too.

"What's the name of your contact Peter?"

"Hell no. I'm not telling you!"

"Fine. Then you can rot in prison for the rest of your inky little life." I started to push away from the table, but Peter grabbed my hand in desperation.

"Wait. You want a more detailed account of that night?"  
"Will you tell me your contact's name?"  
He shook his head. I sighed.

"Fine. Tell me more about your night. Especially your time with Daisy and after. Where you met and when."  
A smart-ass grin covered his face. "_Everything_?"

"Not that kind of everything. You know what I mean." He cleared his throat.

"So I went down to the RID, picked her up on my bike, and we drove to her place on the corner of Lacey and Steam. She's got this crummy little apartment with all this cheesy, glitzy crap to make it more romantic.Anyway, we got there at about 8 p.m. and I was there till 12. I paid her and left. She was still wet when we parted." He licked his lips seductively at me. Some part of me was turned on, and the other, larger part was disgusted that he would stoop so low with a prostitute.

"So you went home after that?"

"Yeah. Went home. Watched porn. Jacked off. The usual." He shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. Smoke poured out his nostrils in animated curls. "So you went and screwed, paid her with erasers, went home and basically did nothing"  
"Yeah".

"Peter, do you know anyone who would want to frame you?"

"You really think I was framed?" he asked, hope resonant in his voice.

"I'm just checking all the facts."

"I have a lot of enimies. Lots of friends."

"Can you name any of your recent lovers?"

He furrowed his brow. "I have lots. I don't think I can remember them all." He took on a peculiar tone, one that suggested that he wanted something in return for his information, even if it meant his life.

"No sex Peter. Not here. Not now."

"Not _ever_?" He asked pleadingly, his hands clasped together with an angelic look on his face.

"I didn't say that," I said defensively, but not with enough defense in it. "This is your life, your innocence"

"Wendy Darling, Tinkerbell, Jane, Tiger Lily, Alice, the Red Queen. Start with them. They ain't too pleased with me in the past couple years."

"Why? What did you do to them?"

"We had a fling and I left them panting, wanting more. They couldn't get enough of me." I figured he'd say something, but Peter had a nicely built body. Most of the human toons did. They'd been drawn that way.

"Thanks Peter. I'll start there. Especially with the Lost Boys." The color drained from his face.

"You're not gonna like what you hear from them." He dragged once again, this time, make heart-shaped smoke rings with his mouth.  
"Catcha later."  
"Seeya slugger."

I got up and winked at him, turning and heading for the door. I needed to go and see the Lost Boys. They were going to be my next best hope for solving the case.

"Oh, and Peter?"

He looked up at me hopefully. I tossed the pictures of Daisy's mutilated body at him. They landed with a thud.

"That's what your _special_ payment did to your squeeze." I opened the door and nearly ran into Gaston. He stared down at me uncomfortably. The silence was unbearable.

"Gaston," I said edging past him.

"Rachael," he responded curtly. He was cold, indifferent. "We _need _to talk later. Back at the office."

"Is it me, or did it just get a hell of a lot colder than before? Hey Gaston. See your muscles have exceeded your bain capacity, as always," Peter chirped before I shut the door behind me on those two idiots.  
Mickey had watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.

"Good work," he quietly said as I passed by.

"How long was he here for?"

"The entire thing. He walked in moments after you." Mickey crossed his arms, staring at me with raised eyebrows.

"Don't give me that look."

"I know what this is about. With you. With him. Just let him in Rachael. He's a much better catch than Peter."

"I know. But he'd be my--"

"_Your first_. I know. No one else does, but I do. And he doesn't. He's a _good_ man."

"I have a case to solve," I said impatiently, and I headed out into the hallway.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was in a cab, heading for the Little Lost Boys CLub, the only all male gay bar in Dizzy Town.  
We pulled up infront of LLBC. It was daytime, but it was quite busy. Not only was it the only one in the Disneyverse, but the only one in the entire universe. Being a gay male cartoon in this world was not an easy lifestyle to lead. Xander off of Drawn Together had made that clear. He frequented this place often enough.

I stepped out and went inside, expecting the raunchiest. Well, I wasn't mistaken. Even in broad daylight, this place was busy. Especially on stage. Naked men did it with other naked men onstage. Taboo in other places, here is was normal to see men doing frottage. I headed to the back, manuevering around the gay couples flirting and kissing and doing other things not appropriate for normal conversation. In the back sat Big Cubby and Nibs. The two were lovers and aged the same as Peter.

"Hello boys," I said demurely as I say down infront of them on a plush chair. Both men gulped nervously. "What are you here for?" Nibs asked.

"I have a few questions concerning a certain 'friend' of yours and one of his 'friends' that goes by the name of Daisy Do Me." Both men turned and looked at the other, unsure of what to say or do.

* * *


	4. It's Just a Little Kiss

Chapter 4

Passion

* * *

Big Cubby watched me apprehensively as I straightened my skirt, my hands smoothing the folds. Rumor held that Cubby was bisexual. Perhaps there was truth to that, considering the intensity with which he watched me. Nibs ignored my femininity. He was all about men, all the time.

"I want to know what previous engagements and contact you've had with Peter Pan was about, when, and why you were in contact with him." I was poignant. I was not going to let them slip away from me in my interrogation.  
Cubby swallowed.  
"We've had dealings in the past. When Peter needed something, we could provide it, but he had to pay." Cubby tried to loosen his collar, but to no avail. He sweated profusely on his brow.

"I asked you to tell me what those dealings were about."

"Peter needed...condoms. Specialty kind. The ones with special bumps and ridges to make it more fun. Personally, I can't believe he himself would stoop so low for money." Nibs looked sharply at Cubby. Cubby ignored the look and started to busy his hands with counting out a small pile of what I assumed were poker chips. Cubby's implications were there, but I needed him to clarify more.

"So Peter was a male prostitute. He had sex with women so he could get extra money."

"You got it," Nibs voiced quietly. I glanced at him. He was smiling smugly.

"Go on."

"It's like this: Peter liked his lifestyle. He liked doing kinky things when he had sex. So he bought specialty condoms from us to wear when he pleasured his...special clients. He'd then go out and buy the payment he needed for specific women of the evening." Nibs pulled out a smoke, the same monogram of WD on the side.

"Who were these clients?" I leaned in, hungry for more information on Peter. Whatever they weren't telling me must have been big.

"Did you question him?" Nibs asked, leaning in just as close.

"Sure did bucco."

"Did he mention any ladies of esteem?"

"When I probed him. Named about six women."

"Four of them ladies are pretty damn important, if he named 'em. Tink, the Queen, Wendy, and Tiger Lily. Them are important. He told them they had to pay him if they wanted him bad enough, and trust me; the Queen and Tink wanted him. Tink had been wantin' him since she first met him."

"Do you know how long he was involved with them?" I had started my tape recorder just before I had gotten to their table. I only hoped I picked up all of this conversation.

"Can't say for sure. Only a handful of people know about Peter's sexual deviancy. He didn't sleep with many women for money. Just the ones I named for you paid him. The others were passing folly." I glanced around the room, taking in the smells and sights. A couple about six feet away was getting dangerously close to actually doing it in front of me. Cubby noticed my discomfort, signaled his guards, and told them to tell the couple to shove off. The guard preceded to do so; the couple headed in the direction of the darkest corner they could find.  
"And now, detective Mallory. That is your name, right? I must ask you to leave. My partner and I have business to attend to." A burly guard dressed in orange fringe and bright pink pants towered over me, his eyes beady and cold.

"Sure thing. I'll escort myself out." I got up hurriedly, sidestepping the guard and dashing for the door.

Outside Arnie was waiting for me. "You ain't been gone ten minutes."

"I got as much as I could from them. I'll sick Gaston on those pricks at a later date. Right now I need you to take me to the office. I got something I gotta do." Arnie sped away, twisting corners and turning alleys like a madman. He got me there in record time. I stepped out and headed for the door, rushing for the elevator.

The doors dinged and I stepped in, sighing wearily, and leaning heavily against the wall. The elevator went up the floors, dinging cheerily as it went. I stepped out a the right stop and headed for the office, key in hand. The key slid in, I dropped my stuff, and I headed for the computer with the tape recorder. I need to transcript everything Peter and the boys had told me. It was going to be a long night.

Two and a half hours later I was still working on the transcripts. It was almost seven; time for Jeopardy, Disney style. I paused the tape recorder and closed my eyes, reprocessing the day's events. Damn was I tired. I heard the insertion of the key into the lock, opening my eyes just as Gaston stepped through the door. He looked at me as he came through, his face weary with exhaustion. He looked like he'd had it just as rough as I had. He frowned, placing his coat on the rack, his jacket making the trip with the coat as well. His footsteps echoed sadly around the room as he made his way toward one of the chairs at my desk. When he sat down, I stopped making eye contact with him.

"Remember what I said about the talk?"

"Uh-huh."

"I want you to know something: I don't approve of the loser scum you like fawning over. You need someone stable, someone who'll support you, some one who'll--"

"Someone who will save my bacon when I need Prince Charming?"

"Not quite--"

"Yes, that is the point, isn't it? You want to be my night in shining armor. Well the answer is no Gaston. You're my colleague, my friend, and my partner. Not my lover." His eyes looked reproachful, pleading, desirous.

"I know that you want more. I've made myself clear that I don't. See to it that you understand that in the future." I went back to typing, my fingers clicking loudly on the keyboard. Before I could react, he had gotten up and strode around the desk to face me. I glanced up him.

"I am not amused."

"Neither am I," he retorted forcefully. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me to my feet, pressing my body hard up against his. He looked at me hard as the space between us became nonexistent. I refused to look at him, staring at my computer screen instead of his face.

"Tell me you don't feel anything Rae."

"I don't feel anything." My eyes reread the text on the screen. They lighted upon Peter's testament of his previous lovers.

"You're lying," he said as he leaned in and whispered in my ear. "How about this?" He caressed my face. "Or this?" His strong hands slid gently down to the small of my back. I shivered expectantly, silently yearning for more. I had hoped he wouldn't notice, but he did. If it was possible, he pulled me closer to him. I struggled in vain , not putting forth much effort. He resisted my strugglins and spoke as softly as was still audible.

"And what about this?" He tilted my face to his, my eyes long on his brown ones. Then, not surprisingly, he kissed me. Again I vainly struggled, but the firm pressure of his lips on mine weakened my stamina to fight. I gave in and returned his kiss. His tongue probed into my mouth, the tip touching mine. He began to go deeper, and soon we were in a full-out lip-lock. My arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his arms around my bodice, his fingers entwined in the hair at the nape of my neck. My thigh, which resided slightly between his legs, could feel him grow hard with desire. It soon escalated to the point where it felt like a rock was trying to poke its way through his pants. I had a similar effect between my legs.

His lips moved from mine to my neck he began to nibble gently, a soft moan escaping from my lips. This encouraged Gaston to proceed, where his fingers began to play with the buttons of my blouse. I had to stop him. Acting quickly, I pushed myself away from him and landed on the desk with a thud. Both of us were panting, him more so than I.

"What are you doing?" He asked, bewildered. A second before, he'd been ready to do me on the desk.

"I can't do this. I admit that I want to. Okay. I really want to. But..."

"But what? We're two consenting adults. I'm an adult, and you're almost 18, so that does count. Why?"

"Because I'm a virgin dammit, for one, and for another, if I ever find a way home, I don't want to have to be tied down to something. Don't you understand?" My eyes were pleading with his for a sign that he realized the importance of my words. They had made quite an impact.

For a few moments he was stunned. He stood looking at me dumbfounded. With his hair rumpled and his clothes messy, he looked very dashing. But that's not the point. Walking away from me, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He was huffy about it.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why? We..."

He turned to face me, features livid and disparing.

"Because you just said so yourself. You cant be tied down if you ever hope to get home." And with that, he left.

* * *

Over the next three days, several things happened: one, Gaston and I barely spoke to one anther. Two, I didn't go to the office was, as I was tracking down leads and interviewing the other lost boys. And three, I got nothing for three days. I was only on Friday that anything worth mentioning happened. 


	5. Welcome to Little China

Dear readers, I greatly appologize for hiatus from DNT. But I had a wedding to attend and all kinds of girl scouts stuff. Yes, I am a girl scout and damn proud of it!

FRom here on out, the subject matter is going to get a whole lot dirtier and perverted and ADULT. So if you have a problem with sex, drugs, blackmail, and anything else graphic and adult, please leave, because disney characters are going to get dirty.

And now...Chapter 5.

* * *

On Friday, I got a call from the secretary to the president of Dust Dreams Inc. They were a company that specialized in the marketing and sale of pixie dust. It was run by none other -- you guessed it -- Tinkerbell. Tink, as she was fondly called by all who knew her, was a corporate shark, and had risen to corporate infamy very quickly. Her receptionist and personal secretary was scheduling a time with me as to when I should be able to meet with Ms. Bell.

I told the secretary I was available for the next week, including today. "Would 1:30 be a good time for you Ms. Mallory."

"Uh, yes it would. Is there anything else?"

"No. Ms. Bell will see you at 1:30 sharp."

"Thank you. Goodbye." I hung up. It was 11:10 right now. I had plenty of time to get down to Dust Dreams and see Tink. At the moment, I was worried about my partner. He was picking up slack for me in a few of my other cases. His plate at the moment was fairly full. Gaston and I hadn't spoken in about three days, and I felt that if I didn't resolve my problems with him shortly, there was going to be an irreparable rift between the two of us, and I would not have that happen between my partner and me.

He was sitting on the other side of the room, at his desk, brooding as usual. He'd been surprised to see me when I'd walked in this morning. I guess he assumed that I was in too much emotional turmoil to be able to face him. Once again, his deductive reasoning about the people he cares about is wrong.

"I'll see you later Gaston."

"Where are you going?" He asked uninterestedly. He hid behind his morning paper. I glanced at the front page and then did a double take. Pan's picture was on the front, his face contorted with anger as the cops hauled him away. The headline read

** Pan Convicted of Murder in Moo Case**

His trial date wasn't for another few weeks. What the hell was going on?

I ran over and snatched Gaston's paper from his hands. He looked at me in bewilderment.

"What the hell? I was reading that." He scowled at me. I returned the look and began to read the cover story.

"**Peter Pan, 54, was sentenced and convicted yesterday afternoon in a flash court on one count of first degree murder, one count of illegal substance abuse, and one count of possession of illegal substances. The victim, Miss Daisy "Do Me" the Cow, was found dead on Monday, bearing real eraser marks. She was brutally murdered and assaulted by the alleged Pan. Sources confirm that he was at the scene of the crime, which took place in the infamous Red Ink District, home to almost half of the crime in Dizzy Town**."

The article was much longer, but those were the high lights. A flash court? How could he have been convicted in a flash court? Flash courts were banned years ago by Mickey Mouse when he was mayor, stating that short trials such as those did not sufficiently cover all the evidence and all possibilities.

I sat down heavily on the edge of Gaston's desk. I had to see Tinkerbell and every suspect I had as quickly as possible.

"Do you know what this is about?" I said, turning to Gaston. He shook his head and stole the paper back from my hands.  
I shook my head as I made my way to the door, grabbing my coat and other accoutrements that I normally brought with me.

"You never answered me," he said again from behind his paper. I knew from the sound of his voice that he was still wounded from out fight a few days ago.

"I don't have to" I said, barely audible. He ruffled his paper and I stepped out the door.

I hailed a cab, different from Arnie. This one didn't talk sadly enough. It was driven by some old man toon, one whose teeth were completely falling out.

"Where to lady?" I thought about it for a moment. There was one thing that I had left out of my investigations.

"Take me to RID." The old man looked at me, his eyes widening a little.

"What's a classy gal like you want to do in a place like that?"

"Ask a few questions and take down some scum." He asked no more and drove off, the scenery of happy little black and white Dizzy Town soon fading into the sad, sinister gloom of the Red Ink District.

"Corner of Lace and Steam." The old cabby obliged and dropped me off. The scene wasn't swarming with police now, but on the grimy sidewalk I could see the outline of where Daisy's twisted corpse had lain. It was pretty depressing. The chalk line couldn't capture what her body had looked like, but it had trouble going over the ink stains.

I got out of the cab, tipped the cabbie, and examined the crime scene.

There were ink stains all over the sidewalk, even on the building itself. It had once been a creme color, now stained black. I looked away, overcome with emotion. It must have been brutal for Daisy. I glanced around to see if there was anyone around.

A Chinese woman shirked off into the shadows.

I quickly followed, wary of my surroundings. If there was one thing I didn't want, it was to become a meal for a predator. She rounded the corner ahead of me, quietly sidestepping garbage. I pursued her, sidestepping the waste myself, till I came to a door that blended in almost completely with the wall. I pushed against it and it swung open soundlessly. Inside was a dark abyss and the smell of hyacinths and ink thinner.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed and pulled me deeper into the shadows, a hand pressed tightly against my mouth. I struggled, grabbing my gun with my only free hand and ramming the butt of it into my assailant's gut. They groaned, letting me go long enough so that I could get away.

"Who the fuck are you and what do you want?"

"To help!" They gasped. I peered into the darkness. A chinese woman I recognized appeared, helping my injured attacker.

It was Grandmother from Mulan, helping an injured Ling.

"What the hell?" I asked, placing my gun back into its holster. Ling wiped spittle from the side of his mouth, gazing at me darkly.

"Not what the hell." Grandmother straightened her jacket, smoothing the creases from her skirt.She smiled at me wryly, helping Ling into the room opposite the door. I followed her, taking in the place.

It was a strip joint, mostly for the Asian cartoon community. Little China was the name of the place. On stage, Mulan danced vigorously with a pole, smiling tantalizingly at the customers. In the darkness I could see Shang and Fa Zuu watching Mulan dance. Fa Zuu was watching with pleasure, Shang with disgust. I noted that in my mind.

"What is this all about," I asked as I passed a few more dancing girls. They were very minor characters from other Disney movies. There were a few that I absolutely did not recognize. Most looked somewhat familiar. The bright neon lights that flashed as they danced gave the place a sense of stop motion action.

"I'm here to give a testimony," Grandmother said, sitting herself down at a rounded booth. Ling sat next to her, ordering a hard scotch on the rocks. I didn't want anything from the blonde waitress. She was one of the blonde sisters in Beauty and the Beast that had fauned all over Gaston's fake character. Her name tag said Clarice.

"A testimony to what?" I asked her, my brow furrowed. I knew the answer before she responded.

"To the fact that Pan didn't kill Daisy"

I smiled. This was what I was looking for. But...

"Why are you telling me?" My suspicions would not go unconfirmed. How had she known I was working the case.

"I have connections," she replied smugly.

"Well, that's nice for you, isn't it?" I sat back, settling in comfortably to the atmosphere. I pulled out my tape recorder, set it on the table, and pressed record. Grandmother Fa eyed it. Her mouth tensed.

"But there's something I want..."

"What? No leading connotations to lead me to ask you for what you want in exchange?" It was my turn to respond smugly.

"I want you to..." She paused, glancing at Mulan, her face tense. My smile fell from my face.

"I'm not dancing for you."

She shook her head, offering her hands in a calming gesture. "Something else. There's something I want you to see. And then you'll understand."

Mulan had just gotten off stage and taken a robe from Fa Zuu, a vacant smile on her face. I was slightly confused. Why did she look so...dazed?

Mulan and Fa Zuu walked off comfortably, his hand making friends with the small of her back. After they had left, Grandmother Fa motioned to me to follow her and she headed off in their direction. Shang watched us with suspicion. He came up behind me, following; we left Ling back at the table to enjoy his drink and the company of the waitress.

Grandmother led us around corners, through hallways, and finally, pulling on the candlestick lighting the hallway, a passage opened up that she led us through. I followed nervously. In the semi darkness of the hidden passage, the sounds of something quite animal happening reached my ears. We walked halfway down when she stopped and motioned me closer. She had removed a small panel to reveal a peep hole. She put her fingers to her lips and pointed at the place where she wanted me to watch. I stepped up to the spot, and nervously looked through the peep holes.

On first look I couldn't watch.

In the room I was viewing into there was a bed chamber with a camera set up. Littering the floor were the remains of countless utensils used for shooting up ink thinner. Only the white powder was not ink thinner. I was fairly certain it was heroin, but I couldn't be sure. Real world drugs in the tooniverse was never a good thing. In the middle of the room was a spacious bed. On it were two figures going at it like starved animals. Fa Zuu had Mulan on her knees, screaming bloody mary as he went into her like a plow to the field. I pulled away, disgusted with what I saw. Although he wasn't really her father, it was still disturbing to see him having sex with her the way he was. Then it clicked. The drugs, the dazed look, the dancing; all of it.  
Shang led the way out, his face a painting of anger. When we arrived back at the table Ling and the waitress were gone.

"Do you understand?" Grandmother Fa was watching me as I sat down heavily, my head cradled in my hands.

"You want me to release her from this life, give her a better one, in exchange for your testimony. Right?" I looked at her, and then Shang. She nodded solemnly. Shang nodded vigorously.

"I can't stand to see her like this anymore. It's killing me, how she could want that old fuck when-" Grandmother Fa silenced Shang's outburst. He was in love with her. And she was a whore who would screw the owner of her workplace in order for a fix.

"Tell me," I asked. "Is that real heroin she's shooting up with?" Grandmother Fa nodded yes.

"Shit. How did you obtain real world drugs?" Grandmother Fa shook her head no.

"Will you help her?" Her eyes were pleading.

"Yes. But you will give me your testimony, in full detail of what happened"

"Yes. Everything." I smiled and picked up my tape recorder.

"Pleasure doing business with you. I don't know how I will help her, but I'll do my best." Grandmother smiled and Shang looked a little less angsty.

"Where are you headed off to?" Grandmother asked.

"To interview someone about Pan"

"Shang will give you a ride. Won't you Shang?" She nudged him. Shang was particularly reluctant to help me, but since I was going to attempt to save his girl.

He got up and I followed, pleased that some good might come out of today. How very foolish I was...

* * *

Well, that was chapter 5. again i apologize for the hiatus, but i've got some amazing stuff planned for rachael and the rest of teh toons...plus a little more dirt. there's isnt going to be any heavy smut, or major sex descriptions. just drugs and violence and maybe a little whiskey.

please rate and review!!!


	6. FUBARed

I do thank you for being so patient with this add on. It's just the conversation between her and Tink, so if you want to, go ahead and skip to that part.

Thank you to:

Aleash  
LH2005

Please Read and Review. It is much appreciated. Be on the lookout for Cinderella and a few other of those Disney Princesses. And Wendy Darling too. I hope you enjoy it, so ta ta for now!

I onw none of these characters and they are strictly characterizations and views of what I think that they would be. If you have a problem with cussing, adult themes, drugs, and prolific use of alcohol and the previous, please find somthing nicer to read.

* * *

Chapter 6: FUBARED

Shang was silent as he drove out of the RID and into the partially normal world of Dizzy Town. I glanced in his rearview and caught his eyes.

"How long?" I asked, curious about Mulan's condition.

"How long what?" He eyed me, furious about the goings on of his would be love.

"How long has she been like that?" I dug around in my purse, looking for my hand gun, preping it for my meeting with Tink, should things go horribly wrong.

He sighed, collecting his thoughts about how he'd answer. "When the film first came out, it was a huge success, and Mulan was pretty happy with her life. She was well-educated and was planing on becoming a university professor at The Walt E. Disney Institute of Higher Learning. Mulan was going to be great, a brilliant teacher on the mechanics of how our world worked. She had the degree, the money, and the drive to pull it off. All she wanted to do was teach. And I was just starting to get her to notice me. We even went out a few times.

"But we fell on hard times. Everyone did. About two years ago, Mulan applied for a grant, but the benefactor of it went bankrupt, and so did Mulan for becoming a recipient. She was broke, and refused to take money from anyone. So Grandmother offered her a job as a waitress at night while Mulan finished her degree by day. It was all good for awhile,but one day we were short a few dancers, and Fa Zu asked Mulan to do one dance to keep the men entertained. Mulan refused, but Grandmother coaxed her into it, saying it was just one dance, and it could be the favor Mulan could pay back." He paused and shook his head, the pain apparent on his face.

"I was against it, but when I saw her up there, I couldn't help but drool. She was sexy, enticing, and above all, very very hot. It paid a hell of a lot more to do the dancing than the waitressing. So she did it more and more, and Fa Zu became hotter and hotter for her. On the set, when we were making the film, Fa ZU had tried to get her to be interested in him, but she couldn't. She didn't find an interest in any man, saying that her career in educating the youth was her one passion. But after she fell hard on cash, she started going out at night with him to make a few extra bucks. Somewhere in the process he got her hooked on real-world heroin. Fa Zu hasn't had a hard-on for someone this bad in a long time. So he takes her in back, does his business, and records it, selling the stuff for more money than it takes to run Little China in a year.

"I wish that was me back there with her, making her scream, and not that low-class scum. She picked him over me, a good life for a broken one, and see where it's gotten her! If only I'd been more helpful, more supportive..." He had started to yell, his temper flaring. I noticed how white his knuckles had become from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

"Shang, people, desperate people, do things that they would not do on a rational day to day basis. It's not your fault. She made those choices. And I'm making the choice to get her out of this problem, okay?" I leaned forward and placed my hand on his tense shoulder. I could feel the rippling muscles beneath the cloth. For one fleeting second, I had the idea of making him pull over the car and fucking his brains out. But I decided not to get carried away in the moment. "You can trust me." I smiled at him in the mirror, and he returned it weakly. I knew that he had doubts about my ability.

"When will Grandmother give me her testimony?" I studied the road ahead, directing him to the right turn-off to get to Dust Dreams Inc.

"Tonight, seven o'clock at the old steel mills, just on the border of Warner Brothers. Is this the place?" I glanced out the window at the sign designating my destination.

"Yeah. This is it. Bring me round front. They'll be expecting me." He drove to the doorway, pulling smoothly up to the curb.

"Mallory." I turned to look at him as I left the car. "I trust you completely. Don't let me down." He gave me one of those heart racing, dashing smiles he had used in the film. I winked back at him and shut the car door.

The lobby of Dust Dreams was spacious and meticulously clean. Fairies flittered about their daily work, talking about their very magical daily lives. I walked up to the directory and quickly found the floor Tinkerbell was located on.  
I stepped onto the elevator, the doors shutting gently with a slight ding. A cool female voice greeted me.

"Hello. Welcome to Dust Dreams Inc, home to where all your dreams and fantasies come to life. How may I assist you"

"Floor 32 please," I answered curtly. The fairy glamour on the voice was hypnotic. The intoxicating smell of wild flowers flowed about the room, attempting to calm the nerves of the elevator's passengers. I was the only one.

"One moment please." The elevator rose at a comfortable pace, gentle music playing from the rose-shaped speakers. Inside, a warm golden glow filled the compartment, illuminating the scenic wallpaper of frisking fairies in wooded areas. I smirked. The whole thing was gaudy.

The elevator dinged at its destination, the cool female voice alerting me to that fact. The doors chimed open and I stepped into the corporate offices of Dust Dreams. The carpet was covered in the sparkling dust of hundreds of fairies, all the size of regular humans. Fairies, as you know, can change their shape.

I followed the marked signs for Tink's office.

At the receptionist's desk sat a twitchy male fairy with platinum blond hair and violet colored eyes. His pointed nose looked at me curiously as I approached.

"Are you Ms. Bell's 1:30?" he asked, his eyebrows lowering deeply in question.

I pulled out my badge and shoved it under the little fairy's nose, knowing it was proof enough for the bastard.

He pressed a button on his intercom phone announcing my arrival. Her door buzzed and I proceeded to enter.

Tinker Bell's office was warm, glowy, and pink. Oversized flowers grew in all corners of the room, making for a very comfortable atmosphere. Her desk was nonexistent. She herself sat in the middle of her fragrant showroom atop a large and cushy mushroom. I stepped forward, wary of the wet grass and it's effect on my heels.

"Detective Rachael Mallory!" Her voice was a musical tinkle, but she did not hide the displeasure of my arrival in her tone.

"Tinker Bell," I retorted with the same tonal quality.

"A very pleasant surprise, I must say." She smiled widely, revealing the slightly pointed teeth that belong to all fairies, delicate and sharp for biting...things.

"So, how may I be of service to you?" Her neatly manicured fingernails came together at perfect points where she created a tent with her hands. I couldn't help noticing the delicate musculature of her hands. Though they were feminine and delicate, they were physically powerful.

I clicked the record button on my tape recorder, disregarding individual rights about recording our conversation.  
"Where were you the night Daisy was killed?" "Daisy who? I don't know anyone by that name. Never have." I pursed my lips in irritation.

"Alright. Where were you four nights ago"

"You mean the second? Oh, time flies very quickly for fairies, and you can't expect me to remember every little thing I did." Her pleasant smile was etched deeply into her mouth. Its creases did not reach her eyes.

"Cut the crap," I fumed. "You know Peter Pan is currently incarcerated on charges of the murder of Daisy "Do Me" the Cow. Now, answer my questions, or I'll have you arrested for interference in a criminal investigation and refusal to coorporate with the police." Sitting back down in a lady-like fashion, I smoothed my skirt daintilly. Tinkerbell's eyes were crystal blue slits as she carefully calculated her next move.

"I was nowhere near Peter Pan," she began quietly. Her voice had the quality of polar ice. "I broke off relations with him long ago, as he did not reciprocate the feelings I once held... and still hold for him. He ..." she broke off, lost in the train of thought, sifting through memories and experiences. I was patient. If I wanted testimony and proof, I needed to give her time.

"He never really was the type to settle down, but I have heard that he has recieved several marriage proposals, but none from me. Wendy Darling was the last one to give him one. About a month ago. Those two have been on-again off-again for years. Some even say that she's his one true love, but circumstances being what they are, they can't be together. But everytime he needs to bounce back from a bad relationship, he goes hurtling toward her like a missle"  
Tears had carefully formed in the corners of her eyes. She hid her face and embarassment by turning down her head to look at teh papers she was shuffling.

"And what is your alliby for that night?" I asked, a bit saddened at her situation. I could hear the love and hurt that echoed in her voice as she talked about Peter. I could understand what unrequited love could do to a person.

"I was here," she droned, boredom now carefully concealing the pain that brewed beneath the surface. "Ask my receptionist. Now if you don't mind, I have a busy work schedule to attend to and must not neglect it any further. Good day." She shrunk herself and zoomed out of the office faster than anything I'd ever seen. I stopped the recorder and headed out to the recptionist's area and recieved confirmation from several fairies that they had seen her here that night. Her alliby was air-tight.

* * *

As I stepped out of the office buildings, I was grabbed and blind-folded, thrown roughly into a dark van waiting at the doors for me.

"You're gonna be so FUBAR bitch," was all I heard as the door slid shut.


	7. Sex, Motorcycles, and Ambulances

Hey guys. Back after Christmas break with a new and somewhat exciting installment. And there is _intrigue_ ooh...

Anyway, I decided to tone down the action a bit and give those of you with dirty little minds a bit of a refresher. No good noir has a lack of sex, so...be prepared. It's a bit longish, but hey...my most recent ones have been fairly short.

So, please read and enjoy. Read and Review please. And if you have a particular character you'd like to see, please drop me a note. Adios.

I own none of these characters and take liberties of said characters from but not including Disney, Nickelodeon, and other cartoons. This is a graphic story with adult themes. If you can't handle them, then please read something else. Thanks.

Rated: MA and R for sexual content and language.

* * *

The van smelled of something fetid. I think they had left something to decay too long in here. I heard voices muffled through the cabin door of the van as my bound body rolled loosely in the back of the van. In all the time I'd ever been here, I'd never been kidnapped, except once. That was the first time I'd ever come to the Disneyverse.

Hours seemed to pass as the driver attempted to hit every single pot hole in the road. My head banged painfully against something hard also rolling along with me. Groaning, I attempted to wriggle my wrists loose from my bonds. The bastards had tied me up the minute the van's door had slid shut. The rope holding me seemed to tighten as I struggled. Relax, I commanded myself. You won't get free if you're all tense. Relaxing as much as one can while their body is jolted violently from one side to another, I relaxed my hands and wrists, carefully wiggling them in different directions as the bonds loosened bit by bit. With a great deal of luck, I managed to free one hand and then the other.

I know. It sounds impossible, but I managed it by the grace of God. Next came my feet. Soon enough, I was crawling around in the dark van, feeling for the door. The handle placed itself violently into my fingers. Bracing myself, I slid open the door, jumped, and ducked and rolled.

My shoulder hit hard pavement first, then my elbow, my head, and the rest of me. I saw the van pulling away, and by the pull of centrifical force, the door to it slid shut. I breathed a sigh of immense relief. One danger was over, but I still had bigger problems. My arm felt like it might have been shattered, and from the looks of the place, I was not in a welcoming area to have ended up. It looked like I was by the docks. The docks in Dizzy Town were probably the worst place I could have ended up.

The place was a festering pool of decay and ruin. I was also not welcomed here, as I'd taken down the biggest crime boss of illegal substances in the Tri-Disney Area only a few months prior. Most people who lived here had made their living on the loading and unloading of those illegal substances. They would sooner tear me apart than help me. Whoever had hired those thugs to kidnap me was very likely connected to Peter's case. Suddenly it hit me. They had to be connected. Peter had refused to tell me who his contacts had been in acquiring those erasers and ink thinner. Find the supplier and I would find another suspect who may have had reason to kill Daisy. Those fellows who'd kidnapped me had poorly hidden British accents. Wendy Darling had a shipping business that dealt in children's literature. She and Peter had been old flames, and nothing screamed more like supplier than her business, being constantly in and out of this place. I would have to go and see her, not only for her connections, but what was being implicated towards her.  
I could hear the distant strains of the bar house near the end of the wharf, the final strains of a bar song dying on the blowing wind. If there was one person here who might help me, it was Jim.

I cringed at the thought. I'd been hoping not to have to run into him, and thus speak to him. But it couldn't be helped; he was the only ally I held here in this section of town and he would know more about Darling's dealings here than I did. Plus, he knew a few things about mending fresh broken bones.

I set off, keeping to the walls of the overseas containers and decrepit warehouses, the grime of age permeating my nose. The sea breezes had really done damage to this place. I could see where the old statue of Mickey's impression of Steamboat Willy stood, the features now worn off with years of age and the battering of the elements. Mickey's nose had long since fallen off.

I stepped carefully around, marking my path and remembering with clarity where Jim's place was. Soon I was in the town section, and walked past The Broken Anchor, the bar Jim's mother ran. Old sailors catcalled out to me to join them for a good time. I kept walking and headed straight for the alley behind the bar. In back, I saw a sign that said Captain James Hawkins: Medic and Mechanic.

I knocked, huddling and cradling my broken arm.

"Who is it," called a gruff voice, no more guarded than I felt.

"An old detective wishing to pay you a visit." The door swung open fast. Jim stood there, shirt half open, his chest heaving from heavy work or maybe anger, his arms covered in muck from his air board, his face set hard.

"Rachael," his expression was one of suspiciousness. I hadn't been particularly kind to him the last time we'd met.

"I need help," I whispered, my arm shooting spasms at me every few seconds. He glanced down to see the way I was holding my arm.

"Come in," he said urgently, grabbing me and slamming the door behind us. He went to the sink and started to scrub his arms and hands, preparing to reset the bone.

"So," he said.

"So." I didn't feel like talking. If he did, that was his business. I was in a hurry, and I need to get back to grandmother Faa and record her testimony. It was imperative that I did.  
I couldn't see what he was doing, but he was being noisy about it. He turned around and brought several vials of creams. Placing them down carefully, he instructed me to remove my shirt. I did so, a pink flush working its way into my cheeks as he saw the bare skin my bra did not cover. Jim didn't notice it. He just went to work, setting the bone. A piece of leather dropped into my hands. I placed it into my mouth and prepared myself for him to set the bone. As he sat himself down and gingerly took up my arm, I tensed and released a slight squeal. Nothing had happened yet, but I was expecting the worst.

"This is going to be painful."

"Don't tell me. I already know what it's going to feel like. Just get it _done_." A grave smile hit his lips. In a moment, his fingers were working the bones back into place, and I was biting down fiercely into the bit, the blinding pain of his resetting my broken arm hitting me with gale force winds. I gripped the edge of the chair I sat on, heaving in breath, whimpering a bit as he did it.

Don't let anyone tell you resetting a bone _does not hurt_. And it's okay to cry. But fuck! I almost passed out.  
When he finished, Jim slathered healing cream on my arm, the bones beginning to mend instantaneously. I would have to wait around for the cream to fully heal me. Unlike what they show you in cartoons, toons get hurt too. So they developed an automatic healing cream that takes maybe an hour or so to heal any hurt. Jim threw one of his sailor shirts at me. With great difficulty, I slipped it on over my head. I leaned back, my breaths coming in shallowly as I adjusted to not being able to move my right arm.

Jim rounded on me and glared. I didn't meet his gaze.

"First you accuse me of being the crime boss of the docks, haul my ass off to jail, and now you show up looking like the battered wife of a drunk. This is a real nice thanks." He was furious, pacing up and down, throwing murderous looks at me every few seconds.

"Jim, can I explain?"

"Yeah, go right ahead. Especially about how you managed to survive getting this far in this town after what you did." He too had lost his job after what I'd done. It was great payback for all the help he'd given me.

I started at the beginning, cutting out the bits about Gaston and I almost fucking each others brains out every time we saw each other. And the bit about Mulan and Shang's little problem. But everything else remained, even Tink's sad testimony of her unrequited love, and all the way up to the part where I was kidnapped and broke my arm trying to escape.

Jim's features changed in the next half hour, softening a bit at the good parts, and hardening at the horror of Daisy's body. When I finished, the salve had done its job and Jim was back to pacing.

He sighed, the stress clear as day in his reaction.

"I'll drive you over to see Faa, but first let's get that salve off." Striding over to the sink and returning with a cloth, he gently wiped the salve off my arm. I flexed my fingers.

"Better than new," I murmured. The old boyish grin I'd first seen on him returned for a moment.

"I do my job with pride, and I do it well."

"Thanks Jim." I stood up and hugged him appreciatively, unaware of the awkwardness it presented to him. He stiffened, but quickly returned the gesture.

I relished the moment of being hugged by someone who was being genuinely kind, who wasn't interested in bedding me every few seconds, and who didn't view me as a sex object. It was just a comfort to have someone who could hug me back and tell me I wasn't going to fail in my case.

"You're welcome." His mouth was very close to my ear, the breath rolling off his lips and warming my neck.

I sniffed a bit, and whispered something I'd wanted to say to him for a very long time. He smelled like sea salt and Old Spice.

"I'm sorry for making such a mess of your life, or everyone's life here. I was just doing my job. And I'm sorry for wrongly accusing you. I owe you for so much, for all the help you gave me." I started to release him, but he refused to let go.

"I know. You were just doing a public service. Really, it was for the better that he's gone. I know you are sorry." He pulled back this time and smiled softly.

"Let's get you back home, and in time for that testimony." Jim gave me one final squeeze and let go. He paused a moment, as if about to say something. But he turned away. Jim pulled a long seaman's coat from the peg and headed out a back door I hadn't noticed before. I snatched my own coat and followed into the dark room.

Light flared to life overhead, a naked bulb swinging hypnotically. I studied the room. Tools and cans full of left over parts lay around in a disordered mess. Half-fixed gadgets and countless bobbles hung around the room on pegs or lay in piles on unsteady worktables. Jim was rummaging around one of his many motorcycles. A crash from behind drew my attention.

He rolled out a burnt orange motorcycle from the shadows. It was as modern as you could get in a cycle. I eyed him and it skeptically.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes." He smiled wickedly, sauntering towards me, his hand clasping tightly around mine and pulling me towards the mechanical death trap.

"I refuse to ride one of those things, no matter how well a handle you have on it."

"Rachael." His arms were crossed over his chest, his jaunty posture irritating as both of us knew he was going to win.

"That you are a gifted sailor and mechanic is of no doubt within my mind. But that is a death trap and I know it shall be the end of me." I protested feebly, half-hopeful of winning. Slipping over the side and sliding on a helmet of matching color, he beckoned to me. I obliged begrudgingly and sat behind him, securing my own helmet. He pressed a button on the cycle and it sputtered and died.

"...he he...still working out the kinks," he laughed sheepishly as he once again pressed the start button. It sputtered and then gently whirred to life. Jim kicked off and we roared out of his garage into the star specked night.

I had a few hours before I needed to get to Faa for her testimony, so I directed Jim to my offices. I didn't feel the need to go home. He handled the machine with such dexterity that I was left breathless. But I didn't pay attention to the ride. I road the whole way there with my face buried in his coat. He chuckled at my cowardice as I peeled myself carefully away from him after we'd stopped. A light glimmered from my office, alerting me that Gaston was here. I was probably best that I did not invite Jim upstairs and show him my work place. As I got to the door, I paused and said,

"Thanks Jim." The automatic door swung open, cool air conditioning washing over me.

"Hey, aren't you going to invite me in for a cup of coffee? I need something to tide me over for the next ride." I couldn't resist his begging glance. He followed me up the elevator and into my offices. Gaston didn't even blink as we entered the room.

"Nice setup," Jim muttered, preparing the coffee machine.

"Thanks. After I first got settled, I enrolled in detective's courses and Gaston helped set me up, had the place all fixed up and everything. He's been a real Godsend." A small smirk appeared on Gaston's face as he turned the page. He was currently flipping through the business section.

"King Arthur's Knights won their home game last night against The Nickelodeon Fire Falcons. Heard it was really on fire. Literally. Had to call in the fire station to put out all those little "mishaps" those fire benders had. Put the Avatar in a real fit." Gaston flipped another page. He was trying to make small talk with a strange and more attractive younger man that I had brought back with me. Though he exerted no outside emotion, I could feel the jealousy rolling off of him.

"You don't even believe that the Avatar has any real power, especially out of his own universe. Besides, what was he doing at a game?" I glanced at him as I cleaned up the papers on my desk. Jim was gently blowing the steam from his coffee, enjoying the chitchat.

"He was just taking a lady friend of his on a date is what I hear."

"Ooh, which one? Was it Toph or Katara?" I was plenty eager. Back when I'd lived in the real world, I had been a major fan of Avatar. Now that I was here, I heard nothing of the conflict between the Avatar and his nemesis, the fire lord.

"Didn't say. But the DA was there and she said she would fully press charges against the fire nation basketball team should they "accidentally" set the other players on fire again. And the referee for that matter." He flipped another page and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a nervous habit of his.

"District Attorney Cinderella Charming actually threatened to press charges against another universe? What happened to all that "inter-dimensional peace relations" crap she was spewing after the Angry Beavers came over to the Disneyverse and defaced most of the downtown area with spray paint? I mean, at the time she was all about keeping the peace and having good relations with other worlds, especially Nickelodeon. She didn't even file a report that they wrote "Suck Our Beavers" all over the stone pumpkin carriage that was erected in her honor after she married the prince." I was fuming a bit, offended at how hypocritical Cindy was. Cinderella was a sweet woman, but she tried too hard to pacify all sides, and when it got too much for her...she tended to overreact.

Gaston heaved a sigh and picked up the entertainment section, going through the list of movie reviews, figuring out which ones he felt like seeing. "Listen, Cindy has a lot on her plate, now that her son is grown and going off to college. I mean, give the woman a break."  
"Yeah, but that doesn't excuse the fact that she's taking her stress and frustration out on other toons," Jim piped in. I glanced at him. His disheveled hair was strewn about his face, catching the light and reflecting the facets of his brown hair. He had removed the earring he had worn for the film and stayed a kid headed on the straight and narrow. My heart leapt a bit as he looked at me warmly and smiled. I lowered my eyes and kept shuffling papers.

"No, it doesn't, but she still has a lot to handle on her plate." Gaston got up from his desk and poured himself a cup of coffee, straight black. I shuttered. I hated straight black coffee. Jim placed his own cup down and retrieved his coat from the rack.

"Going so soon?" I asked, but it came off as a bit desperate, more than I had intended it to. Jim turned to look at me, his face a bit stunned. I blushed, a rare trait.

"Yeah. Do you need a ride home?" He was only offering, but from the look on Gaston's face, it seemed to him that there was more to it than that. I shook my head no.

"Thanks Jim. I'll give you a call in the morning about how it went." He didn't need to ask to know what "it" was. With that, he stepped out. A few minutes later I heard the roar of his engine as it roared off into the night.

I then turned to Gaston and blurted out in approximately two minutes the day's events, especially the bit about the kidnapping. He had to stop me a few times in order to follow exactly what it was that I was saying. When I had finished recounting my tale to him, he strode over to me into two large steps and pulled me into his arms. The hug I received was nothing less than bone crushing.

"You need to stop placing yourself in an ivory tower and face the fact that it isn't safe for you to travel by yourself anymore. You are in too deep to be able to do anything anymore," he whispered, his voice stricken with apprehension. I held him for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then I pulled back.

"I am a big girl Gaston. I can take care of myself."

"Not if you're going to be captured and thrown in the back of a van every day."

"This is only the second time," I moaned, pouting that he had brought up that mention of that occasion again.

"And that time you were lucky to be rescued."

"I rescued myself."

"Yeah, by the grace of a higher power."

"The saying is by the grace of God."

"It doesn't matter." He tilted my face up towards him. "I don't care and I can't let you keep putting yourself into danger again and again." With that, he leaned forward and kissed me deeply. I was tempted to push him off, but I had the problem of pent up sexual frustration and I responded positively. We weren't as animal as we had been a few days ago, but at least we still had a little _oomph_ to throw into the moment. Arms encircling bodies and hands pulling and pushing at each other's hair, we made our way to the couch where we more or less fell down onto it.

His lips traced a wet and rather intoxicating line of kisses down past my neck and well into the cavity between my breasts. He clawed my shirt off and I pulled at his. His hands found their way down to my skirt as he undid its clasps with one hand, shoving it gently down around my knees as I kicked off my shoes. I helped him unbuckle his belt, tossing away his pants and soon after, his underwear. There was no hiding the bulge that revealed itself. He groaned into my neck as he removed both panties and bra, as his mouth wove a steady stream of hot wet kisses down to...well you get the picture.

Where he would have kissed me next would have been thoroughly satisfying if there hadn't been a knock at the door and then someone flew in, blurting out

"Sorry Rachael, but I forgot my... " the words stopped in their throat as Jim took one look at Gaston's lingering form over my intensely horny and _utterly_ nude body. I placed my hand over my eyes and rolled towards the wall, my backside facing Jim as he stood in the doorway, gaping. A huge wave of shame overtook me as I hid my face, Gaston screaming at Jim to get the fuck out of there. Jim complied faster than The Flash. Gaston cursed angrily as he sat up on the bed. A few seconds later, the roar of Jim's motor met my ears. I hadn't even heard him pull up. A hand met my shoulder, but I jerked away from Gaston's fingers and started to hastily pick up my clothing. I looked at his penis and noticed it had wilted. What a proud erection he boasted, now turned to a limp noodle.

"Rae," he said. He had a slight pleading tone, but I was not in the mood for it. I couldn't even bare to think about what Jim thought of me _now_.

"Fuck off," I spat crossly. I pulled on my clothes, not even bothering to look at him. Before I knew it, he grabbed me and started kissing me again, but this time, there was something different.

"No damn fool teenage snot is going to ruin _our_ moment," he snarled. I pushed him off, slapping him sharply with my left hand. His erection had returned.

"I meant it. Go jack off in a corner somewhere. I'm not in the mood." I finished pulling on my clothes and stormed out, pissed as hell.

My car keys were in my hand as I stepped into the elevator and headed for my car. I got out the door, into the car, and sped off, heading for the place Faa had told me to meet her. Getting that alibi was the only thing that mattered any more.

Jim probably thought I was a smutty whore. Gaston thought I was a tease. Peter was disappointed I hadn't gotten him out. Was there anything in the entire fucking world that I could get right? I pressed the pedal to the metal, speeding past the buildings and animated restaurants offering 2-for-1 specials. As I turned into the Red Ink District, a sense of foreboding overcame me. The streets were free of hookers, their pimps also gone. As I came to Faa's place, flashing blue and red caught my vision. An ambulance was parked nearby, it's siren silent.

"What the hell is going on here," I asked a nearby paramedic as I rolled down my window.

"Someone shot old lady Faa and were rushing her to the hospital ASAP." I glanced in my mirror and then at the strapped down body of grandmother Faa.

"Fuck," I muttered quietly.

* * *

Will Mallory get her testinmony from Faa? Will Faa die? And who is behind all this. Stay tuned and prepare to be shocked!

Please review after you have read it. Your comments help me to improve my writing and make the experience more enjoyable for you.

Thanks! Hope you guys had a happy holiday!


	8. Redemption

Hi there. It's me again. I know, for those of you who might still be reading this, its been more than six months since I picked this up and wrote. But I figure that I might as well finish the story.

Here is chapter 8 and I apologize for any spelling errors. I really do try to be consistent in my spelling. So enjoy the continuing saga, because I promise the ending is really going to blow your mind.

But this isn't the end.

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Chapter 8

Redemption

The ambulance's lights flared against the brickwork. It was like some heinous fireworks display. I followed close behind, intending to see if she would be alright. But the hospital bared my way when I got there, saying they would need to take action and operate immediately. Her dying was a real possibility. The bullet had been covered in ink thinner and was of real world quality.

For hours I sat in the emergency room, watching attentively for any sign that something would go wrong. Gaston showed up to question the paramedics and the other members of Fa's syndicate. He also had various testimonies from other people who had been at the scene. We compiled what information we gathered to some narrow facts.

Fa had been seen leaving Little China around 5:30.

The perp who had attacked her was a little Chinese man.

The perp who had attacked her was a blond haired beauty.

The perp was Thumbelina.

They shot twice at Faa and then at themselves.

They shot Faa, ducked behind a corner, and led an all out gun fight against the Three Caballeros.

But the one fact that they all could corroborate on was that the perpetrator was approximately 5'4", medium build, and wearing black.

I massaged my temples, completely fed up. Was there anything these people could confirm as fact? I was no closer to the truth than I was to find my next few suspects.

The Red Queen was vacationing in Haiti (the Disney version of Haiti), and Alice was on sabbatical with her English Lit class, studying the ancient ruins of the former Walt Disney company and how said ruins had affected the literary work of modern day writers. How ancient ruins of a former animation company ties in with a modern English class is a mystery to me.

That left two suspects on Peter's high-paying clientele list: Wendy Darling and Tiger Lily. Jane Darling, one of the few true biological children of a toon used in a film, was not to be discounted within the list of suspects.

So far, Peter was serving the beginning of two life sentences on account of murder, and a total of five years for both possession and abuse of a substance. Peter was going to be in jail long after I died if I didn't do something fast.

Gaston ambled over to me, going over the descriptions the people had given him, scratching his head thoughtfully. He shook it, curls falling into his eyes. I caught myself staring at him, but not before he noticed. He sat down heavily next to me, careful not to touch me. I was still sore from earlier.

"You look tired."

"I am. So do you."

He scratched his head thoughtfully, the pensive look on his face failing to mask his anxiety. "We're PI's. We don't have that luxury."

I sighed. "I don't have a little girl at home to take care of. You should go home and tuck your kid in Gaston. I'm sure she misses her father."

He shrugged me off and began to pace. "I know I should be at home watching my daughter grow up. But this case is proving to be more complicated than I thought." He mashed his features as he ran his hands up and down his face, the handsome façade of the tough cop falling off in a heap.

At home, Louisa was probably asleep by now. The little girl had a sweet face and black curls just like her father's. She had her mother's eyes and kind hearted laugh, according to Gaston. Her mother had been a gypsy extra from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Her name had been Giselle, and she had been stunningly beautiful. I'd seen her picture on Gaston's desk, before he'd hidden it from my view. But Giselle was a free spirit, and she had left Gaston and Louisa not long after the little girl's birth. To his current knowledge, she was living with the gypsies, and sporting an illicit affair with Clopin.

I bade Gaston good night and headed out to my car, where I preceded to drive home.

For two days, I had to wait for Fa to get out of her coma. She had been injured badly. The doctors had predicted a high percentage rate that she would not survive, but she did thankfully. She also flat-out refused to speak with me.

"I almost died because of what I know. I'm not saying anything."

"But Fa– "

"She said no. When she's better and has more protection, we'll contact you."

Shang led me out, a somewhat happy look on his face. Because of what had happened, Mulan had apparently snapped out of her little problem and was now enrolled in rehab. As I passed by a broom closet, I heard animalistic sounds. The door was open a crack and as I peeked, I quickly moved away. Ling had an attractive red headed nurse doing a number 23 against one of the shelves. People really needed to learn to shut the doors better. Or to keep quiet. Either way works.

I started down the corridor, my folder and files in hand and I started thinking hard about all the crazy things that had been happening lately. And then I started thinking about Jim. It had been wrong of me to lead him on that way, and I guess the only answer to fixing that mess was go ahead and meet with him. I knew where to go.

Twenty minutes later I was pulling up to The Broken Anchor. Though I was terrified of being in this part of town, I had to speak to Jim, regardless of the danger to myself. Opening the door and stepping out, I received many hard stares and stony countenances as I made my way to the front of the bar. Jim's door was locked. The padlock had spat cusswords at me, among others things, as well as the statement that Jim never wanted to see me again.

Stepping into the bar, my nose was aggravated by the heavy stink of ale and whiskey shots. Several sailors from the _The Little Mermaid_ stood around singing a bawdy sea chanty. Smirking, I stepped around them and headed towards the bartender. Jim's mother was a tired brunette in her forties, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Glancing at me over the glass she was polishing, she frowned.

"I know what you're here for," she said quietly, eyeing me in a protective motherly way.

"I know what I'm here for to."

"He has absolutely no interest in seeing you."

"But I have to see him. I need his help. And I need to apologize."

Turning away, she gathered empty beer mugs and dumped them in the soapy dishwater of the sink behind her. "As his mother, I'm very protective of my boy. He's had a wild time and he needs to be settling down, not pining over some detective who uses him like an old rag and then tosses him in the dump pile."

Sighing, closing my eyes and fists, I steadied myself against the table.

"Mrs. Hawkins," I began, "I know that you have a low opinion of me, and God help me that I make a few mistakes. But I really need to speak to James. It's official police business."

Setting her mouth into a tense line, she jerked her head in the direction that I could find Jim. "He's in the back and he's consumed with his work. be careful. He's a bit feral."

I nodded my thanks and I went to the tavern kitchen's door. Pushing open the swinging door, I was surrounded by the heavy heat that accompanies kitchens of this kind. A chef no taller than my knee stood on a counter shouting orders to a bunch of alien cooks, scurrying to and fro with dishes piled so high you knew that in the real world the chefs wouldn't be able to hold them. I ducked past the chaos and into a hallway that led to the living quarters of the Hawkins'. Past a few doors and down another hallway, I found a door, marked "Back". As I went through, I heard the bang of a carburetor roaring into life. I pushed through the door and saw Jim propped up on his hand, shielding his face with the other free one, gripping a wrench.

"That was some explosion," I shouted over the sputtering glider.

Jim turned to glare at me. He was in great pain emotionally.

"Yeah. It's acting up. I have to replace all the guts. None of them work." Turning his back to me, he got down on his back and slid underneath the glider, clicking and hammering away at its underbelly.

"Jim, I need to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about," he shouted, even though there was no gurgling engine to compete with.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He didn't respond.

"You weren't meant to see that," I shouted. Perhaps reaching his decibel would make him respond.

Pushing himself out from underneath, anger present on his face he stood up and faced me. "Yeah, and what do you call what I saw?" He wiped his hands on an oily rag and refused to look at me.

"I call it personal business."

"Oh yeah it looked like real business to me," he sneered. Slamming his fists down onto the workbench on the wall, he leaned against its surface, shoulders hunched.

"You shouldn't have burst in on that," I said quietly, carefully.

"Okay, I should have knocked, but he had you stripped to your bare essentials. He was about to devour you. "

"Maybe. Engaging in sex isn't a bad thing."

"Maybe nothing. He treats you like you're his personal property. No other man can approach you and talk with you without him getting jealous and out of control. Why do you think they cast him as the monster in _Beauty and the Beast_? It's definitely not for his people skills."

"How dare you say that! I know him personally. He's not like that at all."

Rounding on me, coming up so that he was no more than three inches from my face, he whispered harshly, "Then how come he treats you so ghastly?"

I faltered in my gaze, unable to look at him. "Because he's my friend. That's all I want him to be right now. And don't say 'That's not how it was the other night,' because it wasn't that way. I've set him straight. I'm done dealing with him. Right now, I need you." It was then that I looked at Jim and stared at him, implored him with my eyes.

"You need me," he replied slowly, allowing the message to sink in. Leaning in, Jim started to kiss me, and I leaned in to, but he turned away at the last second. His lips just barely grazed my cheekbone. "What do you need," he asked huskily.

"Tell me what you know about Wendy Darling and her company."

Jim shrugged and pulled out a stool, setting himself down on it. I moved to the workbench and leaned against it. It had been a good decision on my part this morning to wear a pair of jeans and t-shirt with bomber jacket instead of my usual business suit.

"There's only so much one can tell. Wendy own a shipping company that deals mostly in children's books. There are other things she ships, like furniture and food, car parts, basically whatever sells a profit. But for the most part, it's kidie books. Ten, twenty ships a day go in and out of her docks. Just coming and going. I never set foot over there mostly because she only hires English toons. There's a requirement that her workers have English accents."

I began to pace, thinking hard. "Jim, how about you help me sneak in there?"

"What?" he spluttered. "Are you mad? Have you been taking tea with The March Hare?"

"No, I'm not mad. Security may be hard to break past, but I have to talk to Wendy Darling, and if possible, her daughter. If they weren't part of the murder, then I need alibis."

"But how can they be suspects?"

"First, Peter named them as possible enemies that he might have. Second, I had Forensics run tests again and they picked up a second set of prints that they haven't been able to identify. So far, the only perp I suspected so far has been tested negative to matching those prints."

"And who was that?"

"Tinkerbell. I had one of the deputies bring her in for further questioning yesterday and we took her prints. They don't match in any way at all with the extra set that we found."

"So do you have a plan for sneaking in Miss Smartypants?"

Smiling like I was guilty, I nodded. I eyed a box full of old spare parts and, turning to Jim said, "How would you like to do a little business with Wendy Darling?"

read and review please

I promise to have chapter 9 up for you guys. If anyone is still reading this.

Those of you who are new to the story, go back and read the beginning.

And I promise to be more consistent in my writing. Scout's honor.

Later Days

The White Rabbit


	9. Breaking In is Hard to Do

Howdy! Wow it's been years since I posted. If anyone is still following this story, here is chapter 9. I will do my best to finish this baby.

Sorry for the grammar errors - all my punctuation got removed when I uploaded the doc.

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Twenty minutes later Jim and I were driving carefully down a back alley, Jim at the wheel and hitting every pothole known to man.

"Can you try and not hit the holes?" I protested angrily.

Jim shot me a look. "'I'm doing my best here Rae. It's not my fault the damned road is so old. Look at the state of this place! It s turned into one big festering cesspool. The city refuses to fix the roads and alleys because of the crime rate, and not only that, but the economy is going down the drain. Why do you think people want to fix this place up? Don't you see why they want to live here?"

"Honestly," I said, eyeing the homeless beggar throwing up in a gutter, "I don t."

"It's because once upon a time this was a beautiful place. Nice property, little sea shanties and cottages. Then came the crime lord, that other human. The Red Rorschach. He moved drugs in slowly, then got the kids to join his little gangs and run his dirty errands." Jim sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. His face was tense. He fell silent, lost in the thoughts of what this place had been, once upon a time. We didn't say anything more to one another.

We drove steadily, our fake cargo riding in the back of Mr. Monaga's delivery van. We'd borrowed it from him, after a great deal of discussion. Monaga owed Jim a favor after he'd kicked out the thugs trying to hustle Monaga into paying them a protective fee from other thugs. Monaga was a large, burly East-Indian man with long black dreadlocks and gold hoops through his ears. In the center of his forehead sat a ruby, clear and shining. Monaga's great belly rolled when he walked. Personally, I didn't understand why his many wives put up with all that fat. I couldn't see the attraction to a man who was nearly as wide as a small car.

Our plan was simple: we load the car with empty boxes and try to deliver a fake shipping order for Italian cook books written in Italian. If it worked, we d be able to get in and speak to Wendy Darling, maybe Jane, and maybe find my killer and free Peter. I'd tried to arrange a meeting with Ms. Darling, but all I had gotten was a "Sorry, but she isn t accepting anyone, even cops", which was as good as a "Fuck You" any day.

So we drove steadily, Jim doing a better job of avoiding potholes, as I planned what to say.

"How good are you at faking an English accent"? I watched him as he moved smoothly through a curve.

"Not very," Jim replied, cocking an eyebrow in concern." You were the one who came up with the plan. I thought you would be handling the talking."

"Hey now. You agreed to help here Jimmy boy. You gotta play the game too. Not if it sounds like I m putting on a fake accent."

"Alright then, I ll just have to do one. Or," he added in a lighter tone, "I could speak Italian."

"You can speak Italian?"

"I've been dubbed in many languages. Need I go over the list?"

"Ah no, that's okay. You just speaka Italiano for mea, and I'lla getta backa to youa."

"That was terrible." He laughed brightly.

"Yes, I know. Italiano is not something I practice often."

"Well, it could help with your job opportunities." He smiled and continued to drive. Five minutes later we were at the dock, arguing with a beefy English cartoon man with wide-set eyes and a toothbrush moustache. Jim started to shout aggressively at the man in a thick, convincing imitation of an Italian.

The man turned to me and said in a convincingly difficult to understand cockney accent, "Wot the bluddy ell is 'e sayin'?"

"He says that he has to deliver this immediately. It s an important shipment of cookbooks that were ordered and they have to get off of his truck because he has other pickups today and he can't leave valuable merchandise just sitting on the dock," I responded in what I think was a fairly convincing posh accent.

"I dunno bout this," he mumbled suspiciously.

"Hey," I said, "if these books don't come in and get put in that warehouse, then it's going to be _your_ arse they blame because you wouldn't let us deliver our stock. These are quality goods man, and you'd be costing Miss Darling a good bit of profit. Okay Jaquemo, back her up."

Jim, playing his part, began to back up.

"Wait wait wait! Hold on 'ere. Al righ'. I'll let you pass, but you hafta be outta 'ere in ten minutes. Righ'?"

"Yes sir!" I returned with a smile. The man pressed a large button and the gates swung open, the eyes drawn into the posts scrutinizing us as we passed. The shipping and containment facility, as that is what it was, had cameras located on every post and corner that was available. In a slow 120 degree sweep, the eyes of Darling's empire were all-seeing, though not omnipotent. They didn t know what we were up to.

"How much do you think she pays in electricity bills?" Jim asked as we drove around the back of the building to where the goods would be unloaded.

"If she makes as much as you said she does, then she definitely needs the high-tech security. Darling wasn t raised in the slums. She's a classy lady, and only the best for protecting her assets."

"Yeah, sure. Assets that she gave access to a grimy creep like Pan."

Glaring, I kept my mouth shut. Jim, though crudely, had a good point. For all Peter's charm and sex appeal, he was still a ruffian and certainly out of the league of someone like Wendy Darling.

"So have you got a plan for how we're going to get in after we unload the fake stuff in the back of this truck? Because the minute they check their delivery manifests, we're out of luck."

"Dammit it Jim. Why didn't you say that earlier?" I'd forgotten completely about the manifests and schedule sheets these guys would be checking. That was a seriously bad error on my part.

"We're fucked!"

"Language, Rae. We re not f 'd." He chewed his lip as he slowed down and did a quick turnaround." Did you see that parking lot back there?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I think the sign said something about corporate parking."

"But they ll know that we don t belong the second they see a delivery truck."

"I'll think of something. Just follow my lead when we get out of the truck." Jim followed the small road back up and continued through the parking lot. Shiny new imitations of BMWs, Porches, and a couple Lamborghini's, in a cartoon style, dotted the parking lot, which was rather small. Someone would notice the truck quickly if we didn't high-tail it inside.

"You do realize," Jim mused as he put the truck in park and pulled out the ignition key, "that what we are doing is quite illegal? I could go to prison, and so could you, after they revoke your license. You re on thin ice as it is, being human and all."

"Don't go broadcasting it. I really don t need the entire freaking world knowing that."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but most of the toons are quite aware of what you are Rach. It's a bit hard to keep pretending. You don't really act like them and there's something, I dunno, off I guess."

"Off?"

"Yeah. You almost look... wrong." A peculiar look crossed his face. I wanted to press him further, but we had an interview to conduct and an alibi to collect. We stepped out of the truck, both of us cautiously watching the front door. I crossed to the front end of the truck and peered at the camera by the front door doing a sweep. About a hundred feet down an employee's entrance sat. I pointed it at it and Jim followed with his eyes. He nodded and set his mouth into a frown. This was going to be even harder than I had thought. I was such a rookie.

"Okay," Jim said quietly. "But what if we have to check in there? See that little card swipe device? That door only opens with an employee key card. We re just going to have to walk straight into the lobby and demand to see Wendy."

"That's your plan?" My eyes popped out as I groaned. "You're argh! This will never work."

"Do you have a better plan? You could've staked her place out and run around like paparazzi." He shrugged, turning his collar up to his neck.

"Sure, if I wanted to seem suspicious and stalker like!" I hissed. I exhaled through my nostrils, frustrated. "Fine," I said. I took out my lipstick and put some on, then shoved my sunglasses on. "_You_ follow _my_ lead." This plan probably wasn t going to work, but I didn t have many other options. If he wanted to get her attention, then I had an idea.

I turned to look at him. "Just do your Italian and follow along." Rolling his eyes, Jim followed me as we left the safety of the truck and walked up to the front of the lobby doors. An ornate framework held the doors, looking vaguely like an open book. Two sphinxes sat as sentries on either side. They were quietly napping, the left one, a male sphinx, snoring loudly. I stepped up to the doors and pulled the cool silver handle toward me, opening it.

Inside was all polished marble and crystal, with a high domed ceiling and a long mirror-polished, curving stair rail situated at the left side. Behind the security desk in the back was a glass elevator, polished and gleaming. Tall, delicate fronds were spaced evenly along the walls and windows for an elegant and classy atmosphere. The air smelled of floor polish as we walked across the cherry hardwood floors. Here and there elegant Persian carpets had been laid down to make the floor seem less empty and tie the room together. Wendy had excellent taste. I could imagine some very fine, gorgeous fund raisers being held in this lobby. But this was just the lobby. I wondered what her office looked like.

The security guard was a droopy-eyed toon with an unshaven mug and thinning red hair. His cap sat jauntily on his head as he narrowed his eyes into beady slits. Stopping at the desk, I flipped my hair and sat my hand on my waist as I stared at the guard. His name tag said Biff. Jim stood in a model like pose, his head tilted at angle that said, "I'm too sexy for this room".

"Can I help you?" Biff asked in a squeaky voice.

Dramtically, I pouted and pushed out my breasts as I leaned over to him.

"I need to see Ms. Darling immediately. It's very important. She blew off our last meeting and we need to see her now, if you please."

He scratched his head stupidly. "Well duh-uh, I can t let you up there without confirming with her secretary." He slowly reached his meat fingers over and started punching each button like he had to think about each one in the sequence.

I huffed and poked Jim in the side, tilting my head in that "Do something!" way. He glared at me, then started ranting in Italian. This spooked the guard, as he had no idea what to do. His eyes grew wide as he started to lean away from Jim, who was throwing his hands in the air wildly, cursing and foaming at the mouth. Biff was pulling out his billy club and holding it out like it was a shield. Jim just kept going, knocking plants over and jumping all over the velvet Victorian chez lounges for visitors.

While Biff was distracted I ran behind his desk and over to the elevators, knowing that Jim had just bought me precious seconds. I punched the buttons, the doors opening swiftly. I stepped in and looked at the directory conveniently situated next to the buttons. Wendy Darling s office was on the top floor. Figures. I pressed it with force.

"Oww, watch it! Not so hard," it complained in a nasal posh London accent. I rolled my eyes.

"Please just take me up there."

"Do you have an appointment?" it asked snidely.

"Do it or I ll smash your fucking panel you little git." I glared at it, and it glared back.

The doors shut and we shot straight up, faster than a normal elevator should go. I cursed as I hung on to the hand rails for dear life. They were smeared with my sweaty prints, no longer gold and polished. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I stepped out and they slid close, almost on my butt. I heard snickering from inside. Next time, I would smash the little bugger in.

Looking from side to side down the soft, green carpeted hallway, I saw that there was no one around. It was kind of odd, but I wasn t going to question it and jinx myself. The hanging plaque had elegant arrows etched in. Left were corporate offices. Right was the private office of Ms. Wendy Darling, Esquire. She was a lawyer too? Jeez, she had been busy since retirement.

I walked along carefully, but there was almost no need. The plush carpeting muffled my steps. Up ahead, the hallway curved, the Victorian gas lamps curving with it, throwing long shadows on the wall. As I got closer, I heard the sounds of hushed voices, but I couldn t make them out. It sounded like two women. After rounding the bend, the hallway opened up to a neat, beautifully decorated area. Comfortable couches covered in deep green sat to one side, a polished dark wood table between them. Travel magazines to other universes sat, advertising places like My Life as a Teenage Robot as an older, but more laid back vacation spot.

The secretary's desk close to the farthest wall was vacant, the computer monitor black. I glanced around, noticing the semi-open doors down a smaller corridor behind and to the side of the secretary's desk. I ran over to the desk and started looking through the papers.

Just reports on shipments, old office memos, and a still steaming coffee. Whoever had been here would be coming back shortly. Maybe they had left to check out the commotion caused by Jim downstairs. I needed to keep moving. I riffled some more, but nothing stuck out. As I looked through her calendar, the voices I had heard traveling down the hallway suddenly got louder, and drew my attention to them. I flipped a few pages back to the date of Daisy's murder. There, two days before, was a dinner date at seven o'clock at "The Homestead", a steak house owned by the villain from Home on the Range. I filed it mentally and turned to the cracked open doors of Wendy Darling's office.

The voices were more hushed now, but still fervent and aggressive. I tiptoed over and stood as close to the door as I could. I could only catch parts.

"...did was stupid. They ll be on to it." This voice was young, husky, and highly seductive.

"Not if you don t screw up. I shouldn t have to help you." The newer voice that spoke was British and older. It had to be Wendy.

"We've known one another too long Darling. I have too much dirt on you for you not to help me." The first voice had turned cold and calculating.

"Indeed we have." There was a brief pause. "But circumstances being what they are, I can't help you. I have too much at stake. Jane could get into serious trouble. I m only looking out for her."

There was a scoff. "Don't you dare cross me, limey."

I would have listened for more, but my time was running out. This was not a good situation I had gotten myself into. I backed away, only to run smack into someone far taller than me and more solid than air.

"Going somewhere?" asked a pleasant British voice. I turned. It was a man in a butler's uniform. And he did not look as pleasant as he sounded.


End file.
